


The One with the New Year

by LittleHogwartsGirl



Series: Statue 'verse [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, M/M, blink-and-you'll-miss-it discussion of past alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleHogwartsGirl/pseuds/LittleHogwartsGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doesn’t go through life wanting to kiss people. </p><p>And yet here he is, a week after the incident with the goat, sort of really wanting to kiss Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the New Year

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Judy Garland’s Dorothy and Munchkinland are both mentioned. This is in reference to the 1939 movie The Wizard of Oz, where Dorothy steps out of her sepia-tinted home world and enters the Technicolor Land of Oz.   
> As usual, a huge thank you to my best friend [Effy](http://elloquente.tumblr.com) for helping me post and for reading, and also to the wonderful [Malin](http://dustintheimpala.tumblr.com) for reading.

Enjolras doesn’t go through life wanting to kiss people.

He _has_ kissed people in the past (Truth or Dare with Les Amis gets wild, to say the least), but he doesn’t walk around imagining people’s lips against his or anything. Wanting to kiss people is a very foreign concept to him. The actual kissing can be quite nice, but it’s not something he actively _wants_.

And yet here he is, a week after the incident with the goat, sort of really wanting to kiss Grantaire.

He’s having a difficult time, actually, trying to keep his eyes off Grantaire while Jehan talks excitedly about the New Year’s Eve party they’re having. Les Amis have made it a tradition, letting Jehan host the yearly New Year’s party after dedicating so much time to planning the burning (“murder”, Jehan calls it darkly) of the goat. Jehan dislikes destruction.

“There will be champagne”, Jehan is saying, holding a hand up before anyone has a chance to interrupt. “One glass a person and I keep the rest.”

“What, so you can give it to Montparnasse?” Grantaire says sardonically from across the table, and Enjolras very determinedly looks at a point above his shoulder instead of directly at Grantaire’s face. He’s not even _interested_ in Grantaire’s face. At all.

“Montparnasse can buy his own alcohol”, says Jehan to Grantaire and then directs a stony glare at Enjolras, presumably for not shutting Grantaire up already.

Enjolras is actually sorry, because Jehan doesn’t deserve the constant interruptions; they’re trying so hard to make this a nice party for everyone involved. Enjolras feels sad and selfish and in need of a hug. It’s just that the thought of a hug brings Grantaire back to the forefront of his mind, which just makes him feel frustrated.

Jehan continues. “Now let’s talk decorations.”

As the conversation turns to tinsel and garlands (”That’s for _Christmas_ ”, Joly says, appalled), Grantaire turns to look at Enjolras. For a split second, Enjolras looks back, sees Grantaire’s amused eyes and sarcastic smirk and feels the world tilt dangerously around him.

He turns away before he does something stupid. Like leaning across the table to kiss the bastard.

 

“I need your help”, Enjolras says to Combeferre later that night.

“With what?” Combeferre says without looking up from his book. From his seat on the sofa, Enjolras can’t see if the book’s recreational or if it’s course lit.

“Feelings.”

“Talk to Courf.” So course lit, then.

“Courf isn’t here”, Enjolras tries. “You are. Please.”

Combeferre sighs. “Your feelings or someone else’s?”

Enjolras sighs right back. “Mine. For someone else.”

“I can’t muster the enthusiasm Courf would have, but allow me to smile at the thought of you having a crush. You’re all grown up!” Combeferre finally looks up from his book and does indeed smile, if only a little bit.

“That’s disrespectful”, Enjolras says and rolls his eyes. “Plenty of grown-ups don’t get crushes. Anyway. Yeah. I kinda. Yeah.” He’s usually more eloquent than this.

“If it’s on me I have to let you down, Enjolras.”

“It’s not on you, Christ, what do you take me for? Would I come to you if it was on you?”

“Is it on Courf?” Combeferre is grinning now. “Is that why you won’t go to him?”

“Asshole, no! It’s Grantaire, you idiot.”

Combeferre stops grinning. Then he starts again. Then he stops. Then he laughs, just once, a sharp _Hah_. “That should be more of a surprise than it is.”

“What?” Enjolras says, a little thrown by this.

“You two have been spending more time than usual together lately”, Combeferre says, looking contemplative. “You came back from being arrested–”

“– _relocated_ –”

“–whatever, you came back pretty much holding hands. And clearly _something_ happened last week with the goat, you wouldn’t shut up about him.”

Enjolras has no memory of this. “I was talking about the goat! It was a success! Grantaire just happened to–”

“Just happened to be there? Yes, you mentioned. Sixteen times over the course of the goat debriefing you gave Courf and me.”

“I didn’t– wait, sixteen times? Did you keep _count_?”

Combeferre shrugs. “It was Courf. He also kept making hand-hearts when you weren’t looking this afternoon.”

Enjolras _had_ been very focused on Grantaire that afternoon. Or rather focused on not focusing on Grantaire. Which he supposes is also focusing on Grantaire, in a roundabout way.

“That has nothing to– are you gonna help me or not?”

“Do you need help?” Combeferre sounds calm. “You seem to have your feelings pretty figured out.”

“No I don’t!” Enjolras bristles. “I don’t know anything! This is weird!”

“Your feelings?” Combeferre says, still calm and supremely unhelpful. “Is that what’s weird?”

Enjolras is beginning to wish he’d just not said anything at all. “Yes. Can you take this seriously, please? I asked you for a reason.” He buries his face in his hands, as that seems suitably dramatic.

There’s silence and then the sofa dips next to him as Combeferre sits down.

“Go on, then.” Combeferre’s voice is gentle now, thank goodness. “What’s the problem if you know you like him?”

Enjolras takes a moment to just blink at him. “You know what? I hadn’t thought of that.” He thinks for a second. “I just– What if I don’t actually like him?”

“Explain.”

One of these days, he’s going to murder Combeferre for always being so calm. “Like... Say I tell him, and he likes me back”, the world tilts again as his head floods with possibilities, “and then I... stop liking him. What then? I don’t want to _hurt_ him!”

“Everyone has to make that decision before pursuing a relationship, Enjolras”, Combeferre says gently and places a hand on his shoulder. “Is what you – meaning the two of you, not just you individually – have to gain from a future together worth the potential hurt if things don’t work out?”

Not for the first time, Enjolras wishes he could stand to live without human contact as a hermit on some remote island. That kind of life must be simpler than making all these heavy decisions about interpersonal relationships.

“I think so”, he says and tries to think about it, pictures in his mind what actually dating Grantaire would be like, thinks of art museums and coffee dates and hand-holding and cups of tea on winter nights. He remembers their relocation and the bus ride home, the way Grantaire touched his wrist competently to assess damage and then didn’t let go. He remembers last week, running from the burning goat, holding Grantaire’s hand, pretending to kiss him, Grantaire’s hands gentle in his hair–

Enjolras catches himself smiling and _blushing_ , for goodness’ sake. Combeferre’s face is stony, determined in that way he only ever is when he’s trying not to burst out laughing.

“Fine”, Enjolras decides out loud and glares at Combeferre for just a second. “So I want to... date him. But... I mean, what if he doesn’t... I just.” He falls silent.

“Words, Enjolras”, Combeferre reminds him. His hand is still on Enjolras’ shoulder, comforting and friendly.

“He likes me, right?” Enjolras blurts out. He can hear the way insecurity makes his voice wobble and hopes that Combeferre will ignore it.

Combeferre does, and he doesn’t laugh, not really, but the snorting sound he makes is clearly a substitute. “I can’t actually tell you what R has said in confidence, but from basic observation with, you know, my eyes... I can fairly conclusively say _Uh-huh_.”

“Oh.” A beat, and the brief thought of _Ferre and R have talked about me in confidence?_ “So what do I do? What do people do?”

“I’d say that _people_ try to kiss whomever they’re crushing on, but _you_ probably shouldn’t, because knowing you–”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chill”, Combeferre says, holding up his hands. It’s so rare to hear him use slang that Enjolras actually feels himself inadvertently relaxing. “Listen, you’re good with words, Enjolras. Use them. At Jehan’s party is probably a good time – relaxed atmosphere, I’ll be nearby if you need some friendly support or if you need to be kicked into action, and if things go south there’ll be enough people around that you can just avoid eachother for the rest of the night.”

“You’re a terrible best friend.”

“No I’m not.”

“No, you’re not. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Please don’t tell Courf.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes. “Like I would.”

 

The annual New Year’s Eve party starts at four in the afternoon. Enjolras doesn’t know who decided it should start that early, though he suspects it might have been Grantaire’s way of getting to drinking earlier in the day. Mostly, the party starting early means that Les Amis sit around in Jehan’s living room and eat pizza and watch Disney movies until Bahorel decides it’s time to make some ‘real food’.

“Pizza is real food”, Bossuet protests from his perch on the armrest of Jehan’s ugly orange sofa. Chetta reaches up and pats his shoulder in sympathy.

“You don’t have to eat”, Bahorel says and heads into the kitchen. “But no dessert unless you try the food first!”

“I can eat!” Bossuet and Joly shout back in unison, and then they giggle together while Chetta smiles at them both.

Enjolras pretends that they’re not cute, accidentally looks at Grantaire and has to pretend that _he’s_ not cute, and then faceplants into the back of the sofa and pretends it’s comfortable. Cosette starts petting his hair from her seat next to him. Enjolras is more grateful than he feels like letting on, so he sits back up and lets Cosette’s hand fall away.

“Can we put on something else?” Montparnasse asks, on his back on the floor with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. “I’m watching”, he says, preempting Enjolras’ reply. “I’m watching enough to be able to tell that it’s stupid.”

“And here I thought you’d be identifying with Scar”, Grantaire says and makes them all laugh. Enjolras doesn’t look at him for fear of staring.

“That’s offensive”, Montparnasse says, but he looks as pleased as is possible for someone who always looks a little like they could murder you on a whim.

Jehan gets up from their place next to Montparnasse on the floor and puts on Bambi instead, and then they all have fun comparing Marius to cartoon deer for a while. Enjolras spends most of the time not looking at Grantaire, which is really just watching Grantaire out of the corner of his eye and hoping he won’t notice. Combeferre, arriving with Courfeyrac just as the smell of garlic bread begins wafting out of the kitchen, glances at him knowingly. Enjolras wants to tell him to shut up but doesn’t think he can get away with it without drawing too much attention to himself.

Outside the window, it starts snowing.

 

To his surprise, Éponine corners him after dinner.

“What’s your deal with R?” she says after unceremoniously, albeit discreetly, dragging him off into the space between Jehan’s stairs and the wall.

“Personal space, please”, Enjolras says first, tapping at her hands to make her let go of his lapels.

Frowning, she lets him go and repeats her question. “R. Your deal. What is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean”, he says so unconvincingly he actually makes himself physically cringe.

“Something’s going on”, ‘Ponine says, watching him knowingly without so much as reacting to his sudden shudder. “You two keep looking at eachother when you think the other one isn’t looking.”

Enjolras wants to protest, insist that he’s not looking at R, why would he be looking at R, but a big part of him is focusing on the part where Éponine said ‘you two’, implying that this is mutual.

“So?” he settles for and hopes he sounds aloof, the leader instead of the friend.

“So”, Éponine says and suddenly steps closer. Enjolras wants to take a step back but the only thing behind him is a concrete wall. “If you’re planning on pulling this kind of pretending-you-don’t-know-what’s-going-on stunt with R, I will punch you in your beautiful face.”

Enjolras swallows, tries to think of a way out without losing face completely, comes up blank. “You be straight with me, I’ll be straight with you?” he offers after several uncomfortable seconds.

Éponine barks a hoarse laugh. “If either one of us ever does anything straight, it just may be a sign of the apocalypse.”

He smiles almost against his will. “Point, but the sentiment stands.”

‘Ponine contemplates him, eyes narrowed. Her eyeliner makes her look like a very clever and very dangerous cat. “Okay.”

“What do you mean if I ‘pull this stunt with R’?” Enjolras says and does his best to look into Éponine’s mind to see the truth.

“I mean”, she says, slowly, carefully, “that if R asks you why you’ve been sneaking glances at him for a week, I expect you to have an honest answer for him. Not this bullshit.”

“Fair enough”, Enjolras says. He wonders when he’ll be allowed to leave, and then immediately feels bad that he can’t focus on anything but himself.

“And whatever the fuck your answer was earlier, please reconsider”, Éponine says. “What’s your deal with R?”

Enjolras struggles to find words he can see himself saying out loud to Éponine. He fails and instead shrugs weakly. Éponine’s eyebrows go up half an inch, a silent question, as though she knows he can’t verbalise it. He sighs minutely. She tilts her head to the left. Enjolras drops his shoulders in defeat, nods once and hopes she sees it for the admission it is.

Éponine nods, smiles very quickly, and then leaves him behind the stairs just as unceremoniously as she dragged him in there.

Enjolras is left feeling vaguely embarrassed and wondering what the hell just happened. Bahorel finds him and wisely doesn’t comment.

“There’s dessert”, he says and points toward the kitchen. “Chocolate mousse. If you want some.”

 

When it’s nearing ten and the party is in full swing, Enjolras miraculously finds himself sitting between Cosette and Grantaire on the sofa. Cosette has her back to him and is using his shoulder as a backrest as she talks animatedly to Marius, and Grantaire is sitting crosslegged next to him with his knee pushing into Enjolras’ thigh. It’s not actually very comfortable, but Enjolras doesn’t want to move.

(He remembers his conversation with Éponine, though, and if he keeps a furtive eye out so she’s not lurking somewhere, getting ready to disembowel him, then that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

Grantaire types something on his phone – Enjolras can briefly see the layout of a Facebook Messenger conversation, but doesn’t have time to catch the name at the top – and then he looks up at Enjolras.

“Failed any New Year’s resolutions?”

Enjolras has to smile, because it’s such a Grantaire question. “Well, yes, but it was probably still January”, he admits.

“What was it?” Grantaire says. “Giving up chocolate? Because I tried that and it was no use.”

Enjolras laughs without meaning to. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He hesitates for a moment and then continues, “I wanted to be less selfish. I keep feeling like I always put myself first.” Saying it out loud feels strangely liberating. “So I wanted to try to do more for others, but then so much happened just after New Year’s that I gave up. Maybe this year – next year, I mean. In two hours or so.” He’s slightly uncomfortably aware of how intently Grantaire is looking at him.

“You’re kidding, right?” Grantaire says, his voice soft and low.

“No?” Enjolras says, aware that it comes out a question. “Really I just wanted to stop blaming others for my own faults. I mean, I still want that, so obviously the resolution didn’t work out.” He tries to smile.

“Have I told you this week that you’re an idiot?”

“Yes”, Enjolras says a little tersely. “Twice. But it’ll be a new year in a couple of hours if you–”

Grantaire interrupts him, his words suddenly coming out in rapid, furious whispers. “Well, you are, if you think that you’re ever selfish. I haven’t seen you do a selfish thing in six years of friendship, Enjolras, literally everything you do is for other people or it’s a protest or it’s for the good of the cause or to protect the Amis or to get yourself in trouble instead of the rest of us. If anything you could stand to be more selfish once in a while.”

Enjolras can only stare at him. “I– what?” He feels not unlike having been slapped in the face.

“You heard me”, Grantaire says and stands up, reaches for the bottle of white wine Montparnasse left on the coffee table, takes a swig. “Make that your New Year’s resolution. Be selfish sometimes.” Despite his angry tone of voice just moments earlier, Grantaire is smiling now, just slightly. “You deserve that, at least.”

He leaves and Enjolras can’t bear to follow him. Cosette leans back into his shoulder in a silent show of comfort.

“He’s got a point”, Montparnasse says from behind the sofa, apparently drawn by the smell of blood like any other predator.

“Which part?” Enjolras says without looking at him, still staring at the corner Grantaire vanished around.

“That’s up to you”, Montparnasse says again and then leaves silently, padding off after Grantaire in what is probably a futile hunt for his bottle of wine.

Enjolras, loath to take advice from Montparnasse of all people, leans his head back into the cushions and tries to sink right down to the floor. It doesn’t work, and his mind is reeling from everything he’s crammed into it.

For lack of something better to do, he gets up and goes into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Having to pass Bahorel and his girlfriend – _why_ can he never remember her name? – on the way does not make him feel better.

Once he has his water, he clutches it like a life line while he leans against the wall and watches his friends dance and talk and laugh and drink. He almost feels as though he’s not seeing them; he’s too busy thinking.

He can’t stop thinking about Grantaire, and the protest and the goat and everything since then and in between and everything that Grantaire said tonight, and the way Grantaire grabbed the wine bottle and left with that little smile. He thinks about Grantaire’s knee pressed into his leg, about last week after the goat and the way his own heart raced in his chest from running or from exhilaration or from something else. He thinks back to six years earlier and their first meeting, himself a self-righteous sixteen-year-old and Grantaire a half-drunk one, names casually exchanged after the goat successfully burned. He thinks about the way Grantaire says his name, the way it’s impossible to tell if he means Enj or _ange_. He thinks about the way Grantaire’s always looked at him and how he’s only recently realised that he’s been looking back for quite some time.

He thinks about how Grantaire said he should be selfish once in a while.

As he watches Marius and Cosette slow dance, Enjolras thinks about Grantaire’s eyes (which are very dark) and Grantaire’s hair (which is very curly) and Grantaire’s talent, the way he once painted Enjolras as an honest-to-God revolutionary leader and the way he always rolls his eyes and pretends indifference before doing exactly as he’s been asked. He thinks about Éponine and their vaguely threatening conversation, thinks about the implications and the possibilities and the way she said ‘you two’.

Grantaire comes back into the room, sans bottle but smiling for real, carefree and laughing with Joly and Bossuet. His gaze brushes Enjolras’ so quickly it might be accidental. Chetta joins them, takes hold of both her boyfriends and drags them with her to the sofa, leaving Grantaire alone by the wall.

Enjolras sees him standing there, in his paint-stained green hoodie and black skinny jeans and with the ghost of a smile on his lips, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to be so incredibly goddamn selfish.

He crosses the room and is in front of Grantaire before he has time to talk himself out of it. He feels like nothing so much as a complete fool.

“Can we go outside?” he says, instead of ‘Hi’, and gestures towards the balcony, which is half-hidden from view by Jehan’s heavy curtains and two glittery garlands.

Grantaire studies him for all of two seconds. “Alright.”

They step outside into the cold and Enjolras nudges the door closed behind them. It’s not so much a balcony as a glorified fire escape, whipped into shape through sheer determination on Jehan’s part, full of winter-empty flower pots and festively decorated with a string of fairy lights wrapped around the railing. Enjolras can see Grantaire’s eyes glittering slightly in the dim light. Excepting vague shouting and glass smashing in the distance, a New Year’s party gone worse than theirs, it’s oppressively quiet, the light snowfall making the world seem slow and sleepy. Enjolras thinks that Javert will be having the time of his life later, chasing all the people setting off fireworks without a proper permit.

The silence is awkward and heavy and broken by Grantaire after the better part of a minute.

“Are you–”, he stops, seems to gather his thoughts for a bit. “Enj, are you okay?”

The nickname gets to Enjolras more than the question, and he laughs quietly, more white puffy clouds of breath than sound. “I don’t know.”

“Anything I can do?” Grantaire looks concerned and sounds it, too, his voice soft and tentative.

Enjolras almost says an instant ‘No’, the kind of pure reflex to brush off the question that he’s so used to, but forces himself to swallow it. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”

“Shoot, then”, Grantaire says encouragingly. “Better out than in, and all that.”

“Are you drunk?” Enjolras asks, remembering the wine bottle from earlier. Some part of him admits that he’s mostly stalling.

Grantaire pushes air out through his teeth, a dismissive ‘Pssh’ sound. “Nah. Not enough wine in that bottle to get you drunk, much less me. Besides, ‘Parnasse came after me and wanted it back before I had more than a mouthful.”

“That’s all you’ve had?” Enjolras says, unable to hide his surprise, and then wants to smack himself in the face for sounding so rude. “I mean– Sorry. That sounded awful.”

“It’s okay.” Grantaire smiles, a little lopsided. “I’m kinda proud of myself. Cutting back on drinking was my New Year’s resolution three years ago. Only one I ever kept.” He laughs, low in his throat. “Never thought then that I could go an entire party on just a few stolen swallows of wine.”

Enjolras is speechless for a good thirty seconds. Grantaire just keeps looking at him with that crooked smile.

“Oh”, Enjolras says when he finds his voice again. “I didn’t know that.”

“’Course you didn’t. I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m proud of you, too.” Enjolras starts saying it because it’s the thing to say, but once he’s said it he finds it’s so true it almost hurts. “Really, R”, he says when he sees that Grantaire is shaking his head in smiling disbelief.

“Thanks”, Grantaire says on a huff of a breath. He looks down for another couple seconds and then looks up, determined and rolling his eyes in one. “Back to you. You thought I could ‘probably’”, he makes quote marks out of his fingers, “help out. Go.”

Enjolras feels suddenly backed into a corner but takes a deep breath, feels his heart beat faster out of pure nervousness. “I’m only doing this because you told me to be selfish”, he says half under his breath. It’s ironic, or something, he supposes, that saying that makes him feel even more selfish.

“What?” Grantaire says, leaning forward to try and catch his words.

“I have a crush on you.” The words once they’re out sound silly and small, non-descriptive, childish even. When Enjolras dares to glance up at Grantaire, all he sees is dark curls, spotted with little white snowflakes, falling over Grantaire’s face. It’s a few unsteady seconds before he realises it’s because Grantaire is looking down at his own feet.

“R?” Enjolras manages.

“Give me a moment”, Grantaire says, muffled, mouth apparently hidden under his collar.

“Okay”, Enjolras says meekly. He feels like this is all going very wrong.

Grantaire looks up suddenly and with such a sharp, jerking motion that Enjolras flinches. “Is this for real? It’s not the bad end of a bet or a practical joke or something, right? Because I swear to God, Enjolras, if this is–”

“No!” Enjolras says quickly, holds up his hands as if to prove his innocence. “No, no, it’s just– it’s just me. I just– I like you. Like, a lot. And I–” He cannot believe that his words, usually so reliable, are abandoning him at this crucial moment. “Yeah”, he finishes lamely.

“Okay”, Grantaire says, under his breath, seemingly to himself. Then louder, clearly for Enjolras’ benefit, “Okay. Okay. I– Is this happening? I didn’t, like, get blackout drunk and this is some weird dream, right?” He narrows his eyes as though he expects Enjolras to say yes.

“Not to my knowledge”, Enjolras says carefully. “Listen, you don’t have to react to this now, I know it’s probably a bit unexpected, you can take some–”

“God, you’re such an _idiot_.” Grantaire steps forward, grabs Enjolras around the shoulders and pulls him into a hug. Enjolras goes willingly, buries his face in the space where Grantaire’s neck meets his shoulders, lets his cold hands rest on Grantaire’s hips. He takes a deep breath, smells leather and something like mint. Against his temple, he can feel Grantaire’s lips stretching into a smile.

“Please tell me this means what I think it means”, Enjolras dares to say.

Grantaire’s arms tighten around him. “What do you think it means?” Enjolras can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You asshole.”

“If you say so.” Grantaire’s hands glide down his sweater and settle on his back, one between his shoulderblades and one further down. “I’ve liked you for ages”, he says then, voice soft and lips barely brushing Enjolras’ hair. “Like, literal years.” His voice is shaking, and Enjolras’ head is spinning because he thought he knew that Grantaire liked him, but it’s only now that he realises that he hadn’t fully let himself believe it. Not until now. “There is literally no way this is real life.”

“Tell me about it”, Enjolras says and pulls himself closer to Grantaire, slides his arms around his waist until he’s got a proper hold of him, tries to show him how much he wants this, that this isn’t a dream or a fantasy or a joke. It may be wishful thinking, but he thinks he can feel Grantaire’s heartbeat against his own chest.

He’s not sure who looks up first. All he knows is his nose is very close to Grantaire’s and some of Grantaire’s fingers are tracing little circles at the small of his back.

“Can I kiss you?” Grantaire whispers, and he’s still smiling. Enjolras can see snowflakes caught in his dark eyelashes.

Instead of replying Enjolras leans in, and then Grantaire is kissing him with sweet white wine on his breath, and Enjolras lets go of his waist to reach up and tangle his hands in Grantaire’s hair instead, and Grantaire makes a small pleased noise into his mouth and deepens the kiss. He tastes like wine and chocolate mousse and mint.

Eventually it gets too cold to stay on the balcony, so they both blush and laugh and try to make themselves look presentable before they head back inside. Enjolras delights in brushing snowflakes out of Grantaire’s hair and eyelashes, getting to touch the surprisingly smooth skin on his cheekbones, is unable to resist leaning in and kissing his cheek. He feels stubble on his lips. The little water droplets that remain in Grantaire’s hair glitter like tiny diamonds in the light from the fairy lights. When Grantaire reaches a hand out to tug the door open, Enjolras reaches out for his other hand – dry and a little rough, probably from washing off paint so often, and cold, from the night air – and takes it in his. Grantaire looks so happy about this development that Enjolras smiles until his cheeks hurt.

Hardly anyone pays attention to them when they come back in. Combeferre sees them and raises his eyebrows at Enjolras, who smiles back a little sheepishly and squeezes Grantaire’s hand for good measure. Feuilly, on the floor by the sofa with his head leaning against Bossuet’s legs, also notices their joint hands and grins. Éponine raises her near-empty glass in their direction.

The others are too pre-occupied to notice they’ve even been gone. Musichetta is on Bossuet’s lap with her feet kicking at air and her back resting against Joly’s chest, while Jehan and Montparnasse are quietly making out under the stairs.

“Thought you were supposed to start at midnight”, Grantaire says in Enjolras’ ear and nods in their direction.

“Not like we didn’t get a headstart”, Enjolras retorts and is delighted to see Grantaire blushing in full vibrant colour, nothing like the faint greenish-yellow light out on the balcony. He feels like Judy Garland’s Dorothy, stepping out into Munchkinland.

“Five minutes to midnight!” Marius calls out from where he’s sat on top of the kitchen table, black hair flopping into his eyes.

There’s a sudden rush for the kitchen as everyone tries to refill their glasses in time for the new year. Grantaire pulls Enjolras out of the way, one hand in his and the other arm firmly around his waist so that they’re pressed close to eachother against a wall. Enjolras smiles up at him, feeling like he might burst with happiness and luck and light.

Their moment is quickly and loudly broken by Courfeyrac, who comes up and demands fistbumps off them both.

“Consider it my blessing”, he says and pointedly looks at their joint hands until they let go of eachother and instead bump their fists against his. “I love you”, he whispers into Enjolras’ ear and then kisses his cheek wetly. “Well done.” He flits off, drags Bahorel into a few waltz steps, dips Éponine and kisses the top of her head, and then finally finds his way back to Combeferre.

“Jesus”, Grantaire says, with a happy little laugh that does funny things to Enjolras’ heart, and laces their fingers back together. “You want a drink?”

Enjolras feels himself blushing at how domestic this feels. “I’m good”, he says and strokes Grantaire’s hand with his thumb. “You?”

“Same”, Grantaire says and looks hesitant for a split second. Then he suddenly leans in, leans his forehead against Enjolras’, takes a deep breath and says very quickly in a very soft voice, “Be my boyfriend?”

Enjolras has a hard time getting his ‘Yes’ past his smile, but he manages. ”Be mine?”

Grantaire nods, smiles, puts his hand to his lips and kisses it. Enjolras pretends that he’s not screaming on the inside.

“Two minutes!” Éponine calls, a drink in one hand and Marius’ wrist in the other, checking the time on his watch.

Jehan dives out from under the stairs, a dark purple lovebite standing out above their bright pink collared shirt, and pulls the curtains away from the windows so that Les Amis can all gather in front of them. Someone turns out the lights so that the city skyline is visible outside.

“One minute!” Cosette calls, and they all cheer.

“Any New Year’s resolutions?” Grantaire says, breath warm against Enjolras’ cheek.

Enjolras turns his face up to properly look at him, does his best at a teasing smirk. “Being selfish.”

Grantaire’s smile is brilliant even in the darkness. “Good one.”

“Ten!” some of the others shout. “Nine!”

“Eight!” Grantaire joins in, and then laughs himself through the next four numbers at the look on Enjolras’ face. Enjolras tries not to be endeared but finds it impossible.

“Three!” It’s all around them now. Enjolras can hear Bahorel just behind them, and Éponine somewhere off to his left. Outside, the first fireworks explode and light up the night sky.

Before ‘Two!’, Enjolras puts his hands around the back of Grantaire’s neck and tugs him down into a kiss. Grantaire smiles against his mouth and pulls him closer.

It’s close to a minute into the new year before Enjolras manages to pull away.

“Happy new year.”

“Happy new year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Is this cheesy as all hell? Yes (assuming there’s cheese in Hell). Have I been working on it since December? Entirely possible. Did I write most of it between midnight and three am in early July when I really should have been sleeping? You can’t prove anything.
> 
> Does Jehan use they/them pronouns? Why yes they do, thanks for noticing. Does Marius have black hair because the Brick makes it clear that he’s the Original Emo Kid? Yes indeed. Is Enjolras asexual? Yes, although mostly because I (an asexual) cannot write sexual attraction without a great deal of effort. Will there be further works in the Statue ‘Verse? Hopefully. 
> 
> “Light up the night sky” is a mostly coincidental quote from the song Blackout from _In The Heights_ (music and lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda), but since that’s also in reference to fireworks I feel some credit is in order. Also I was listening to In The Heights while writing. So thanks, Lin.


End file.
